


Dream Of You

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [11]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 17:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: Fiona struggles to discern dreams from reality. When she thinks she has a handle on the truth, she is surprised by Brynjolf--who is equally surprised to see her in such an...interesting state.





	Dream Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Ayeee I (finally) made a smutty story for these two.  
Tumblr prompt: The restless half-remembered dreams

_His touch was fire along her skin, the weight of him atop her a heat she should’ve welcomed long ago. Every kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her neck—it seared with such fervent passion, Fiona thought she would be marked not just for days, but for life. _

_Brynjolf stole her lips in another heated kiss, groaning—almost growling—as his thrusts quickened. But he wasn’t stealing—Fiona was gladly offering her body to him, happy to finally be sharing her bed with the man she desired most. With the man she loved most. _

_Fiona broke the kiss first, moaning against his mouth when his hips snapped faster against her own. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck, holding him as close as she could. One hand fisted in his hair, the other clutching desperately to his back, she could barely catch her breath as he worked to undo her like the expert he was. _

_Her vision blurred brilliantly as she came, crying out his name and the Divines all at once. It was so overwhelming that she had to shut her eyes. But Brynjolf would have none of that. _

_“Open your eyes for me, Fiona,” he breathed against her temple, nudging her face with his nose. _

_She clung to him tighter, whimpering as he continued to move against her, drawing out her pleasure. It was nearly unbearable. _

_“Come on lass,” he said, almost pleading. “I want to see you.” _

_She couldn’t. Not yet. _

_“Open your eyes.” _  


Fiona snapped open her eyes, breath leaving her in a startled gasp as she awoke. For several moments she was frozen, paralyzed by the dream that lingered on the very edges of her mind. Her whole body tingled with the phantom hands she could still feel on her body, and she desperately reached out, trying to find the man those hands belonged to.

Except, the bed was empty—she was alone. Had it truly been a dream? Fiona blinked as she struggled to steady her breathing, not completely willing to let the thoughts escape her so easily. Perhaps she had conjured up some kind of wicked fantasy after having too much to drink at the Flaggon—it wouldn’t have been the first time she had thought about Brynjolf in such a colorful way.

But then why was she naked? The furs of her bed the only thing keeping the slight chill of the room from her skin. She could smell the fireplace burning; somebody had placed new logs on the fire to keep it ablaze. There was only one question burning in her mind. Where was Brynjolf?

She closed her eyes again as flashes of the previous evening sparked her conscious, igniting a pool of warmth to radiate from her chest to her core. Her dream _had_ been reality—the two had finally had sex after returning to Riften from Irkngthand. It had been a long time coming, so to speak.

However, Fiona had not expected to wake up alone, especially after the long night of passion. They had shared so much more than just their bodies with one another. She had never seen Brynjolf so ardent and yet so vulnerable at the same time. He had made it clear in his actions that he was devoted to her—that he _loved_ her. Still, a quiet voice in the back of her mind wondered for a fleeting moment—_what if_—what if now that Brynjolf had gotten what he’d wanted all along, he had fled in the night? As quickly as the thought entered her mind, she shook it away, focusing on the present and the pleasure she craved.

If only the other side of her bed wasn’t empty. 

She rolled from her stomach onto her back, leaning up for a moment to scan the room and confirm that she really was by herself. There were no sounds coming from the cellar, and as far as she could tell, Brynjolf’s belongings from the previous night were nowhere to be seen. In a huff of aggravation she fell against the pillows, not knowing if she would kill the man when she saw him next, or demand he at least fuck her frustrations away.

What he had done to her last night—what he had made her _feel_—her heart raced with the memory. Fiona had been with her share of men, but none had treated her in such a magnificent way, ensuring she received her pleasure time and time again, long before he sought his own. Brynjolf was a damned good lover—just as he had always boasted. And she cursed him and loved him for it all at once.

One hand beneath the furs, Fiona slid her hand across her abdomen, trying to replicate the sensation she had felt in her dream, and from the previous night. It wasn’t the same—it never would be—but it would have to do for now. She flicked her eyes closed, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine Brynjolf there with her, his body stretched out next to hers, his hand instead of her own ghosting over her skin.

Fiona moved her hand lower still, fingers sliding across her thigh, as if to tease herself. But she couldn’t wait, and this wasn’t actually Brynjolf’s teasing hand. She touched at the junction between her thighs, slipping a few fingers across her entrance. She let out the tiniest gasps, smiling to herself as she thought about what Brynjolf would think—he’d smirk against her brow, kiss along her jaw, whisper something about how wonderfully wet she was. 

She clutched the blanket to her chest with her free hand as she probed herself with the tips of a few fingers, not anticipating the sensitivity. It had been a while since she had done this last—perhaps now she had better imagery to use. She thought about Brynjolf occupying the space next to her and—

The floorboard creaked.

“I’d hoped you’d at least wait for me before starting again…”

Fiona’s gaze instantly landed on Brynjolf, standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. He wasn’t dressed in his Guild uniform, rather, he was dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants—something he usually slept in. Her confusion quickly morphed into horror as all the heat shot to her face, ears burning with a sort of embarrassment she wasn’t used to. The first thing she could think to do was pull the furs over her head and roll away.

“Ah! Somebody’s suddenly shy!” Brynjolf laughed. The bed dipped under his weight, and Fiona stilled as his legs framed hers and he leaned his body against her own. He was warm, _so_ warm, and it enveloped her like a cocoon. “None of that now, lass.”

Fiona braced herself as his hand hooked into the blanket, pulling it away slowly from her face. She didn’t dare open her eyes, and even buried her face further into the pillow. A small sense of shame washed over her—she wasn’t the type to be so bashful, especially about her sexuality, and yet, Brynjolf had intruded upon her, after his supposed disappearance. She felt his nose nuzzle against her temple.

“Fiona, love…” he hushed against the shell of her ear. “By that..._performance_, you’ve certainly got something on your mind. Talk to me.”

The back of his fingers brushed along the side of her face, tucking away lose strands of hair. She could feel them tracing the line of her scar, down the side of her neck. “Open those beautiful eyes. Look at me, and tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Fiona had an idea as his words sparked a memory of the previous evening. She slowly peeked open her eyes, gazing at him though her lashes. With an even breath she relaxed, but continued to clutch the blanket to her chest to save her modesty, for now. 

“I had the most delightful dream,” she sighed.

His brows perked up, and the green of his eyes darkened. “Oh? Do tell.”

“We were…in a similar position to this,” Fiona started. Brynjolf hummed, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. “Although, you were wearing far less clothes.”

“I bet this blanket wasn’t here either,” he murmured against her cheek. Fiona tugged against his advances to remove it from her body, softly chuckling at the frown she felt against her skin. “Aye, lass. And how good was this dream Brynjolf to you?”

She bit back a soft moan as his lips hovered over her neck, fingers brushing away more of her blonde hair to give him greater access. That was his favorite spot—had been _before_ last night as well. She smiled. “I don’t think I should kiss and tell…”

“Is that so?” he asked. A kiss to her chin, and to the bridge of her nose. “How ‘bout just a kiss?”

Fiona welcomed his lips against her own, closing her eyes as he kissed her slowly at first. He threaded one hand in her hair to hold her in place, his other moving to grip her hip through the fur. The kiss grew deeper, Brynjolf slowly moving to lay her flat beneath him so he could rest his body between her thighs. She almost got lost in the motions, forgetting she had a plan, and questions. As he rolled his hips against hers, making his arousal known, she pulled away, sinking into the pillows. 

“It’s a shame I had to wake up alone.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed, wanting to keep up the playful tease, but her honesty was shining through. Brynjolf’s expression was hazy, realization slowly dawning on his features as he struggled to hold back from simply continuing to ravage her. His jaw clenched before he frowned, understanding her tone.

“I hadn’t meant for that,” he said quietly, adjusting himself so not so much of his weight—especially his lower half—was not resting on her. “I needed to take care of a few errands.”

Fiona furrowed her brows, and felt the seed of doubt from before start to take root once more. Despite the fact he was _back_ and seemed every bit attentive, was it all an act? Her gaze danced away, but Brynjolf’s hand rested on her cheek, ensuring she couldn’t turn away from him. A thumb brushed against her skin, until she locked eyes with him again.

“I went to the Cistern, to check in with Karliah. Before she came looking for us,” he explained. “You know she would’ve. Her and her interrupting ways. I practically had to beg for the two of us to be left alone for the next few days.”

She stared at his expression for a long time, before realizing he was telling the truth. She faintly smiled, and lifted her hands to pluck at the cotton sleeves of his shirt. “Dressed like this?” 

Brynjolf let a short gasp of a laugh go. “Aye, otherwise they wouldn’t have believed my urgency to get back to you.”

He situated himself along her side instead, pulling her into his embrace as he held her tight. More kisses littered across her forehead, cheek and jawline. “I’m a fool to have left you, lass.”

Fiona tilted her head up to press her own kiss against his chin, and the corner of his mouth. “You’re lucky I love fools.”

Brynjolf smiled in the delirious little way when she spoke of her emotions. “No more waking up alone. I promise you, Fiona.”

They stayed like that, facing on their sides, intermediately sharing lazy kisses, and soft whispers of each other’s names. Brynjolf seemed content to remain like that for the rest of the morning, just holding her to his chest muttering sweet-nothings into her ear.

“Sweet love…Fiona,” he sighed, almost dreamily.

Fiona quickly remembered what she had been up to before he had interrupted her—and how obviously she had aroused him. Instantly, that heat was pooled at her thighs, and all she wanted was to feel his touch on every last space of her skin. Without warning she hooked her leg around his, wrapping one arm around his shoulder as she flipped him beneath her. Brynjolf reacted quickly, groaning against her mouth in a hot sound of approval when she kissed him urgently. His hands gripped the flesh of the back of her thighs, another sound escaping his throat as he realized there was no blanket or clothing there.

He sat them up, and without care, Fiona allowed the fur to fall away from her chest and pool around her waist. Blindly, Brynjolf reached for the fabric and tossed it aside, it landing with a thump on the wooden floor. Fiona scooted closer to him along his lap, breaking away from their kiss to moan as his clothed erection pulsated against her core. This is what she had been craving all morning, and now that he was here, she wasn’t going to stop till she had all of him.

She made quick work of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head and throwing it in the general direction of where the fur had gone. She raked her fingers across his chest, nails softly dragging across the faded silver lines of scars and through the dark patch of hair that sprinkled down across his abdomen and past the hem of his pants. All the while, Brynjolf’s hands clung to her, one gripping her waist tightly and the other fondling her breast. Between two fingers, he worked her nipple to a pointed peak, his mouth trailing from her neck to her chest to ensure her other breast did not go unattended.

“Have I mentioned,” he spoke against her skin, tongue trailing across her breasts. “How perfectly soft your skin is?”

Spurred on, Fiona rolled her hips against his, grinding herself against his stiffened member. Brynjolf chuckled, matching her movements—likely out of his volition.

“No desire to go slow this evening, lass?” he asked, focusing his attention back to that favored spot of his right below her ear. He molded his lips around the column of her throat, teeth nipping in a delightfully painful way to ensure she was marked as his.

“Not particularly,” she replied, deft fingers quickly untying the laces to loosen the waistband of his pants. Brynjolf hissed into the curve of her shoulder as her hand finally found him, effortlessly palming his cock in steady strokes.

“Fiona,” he sighed her name, one hand gripping the hair at the back of her head, the other biting crescent moons into her waist.

She scooted closer, could feel the warmth of him pressing against her abdomen as she coaxed more and more from him. But he wasn’t close enough. With her other hand, she tried to push away at his pants, before realizing that she was undoubtedly in the way. Reluctantly, she shifted, the two sighing at the brief loss, but Brynjolf understood. He quickly shifted, toeing off his boots and sliding down his pants until he could kick them to the floor. He hauled her into another embrace the moment he was free, capturing her lips in a frenzied manner. His hands roamed across her body, until one slipped down past her hips between the two of them.

His fingers were _no_ comparison as they slid across her entrance, just the very tips teasing her at first—at least she had been right about that. She shuddered against him, breaking away to rest her head against his shoulder as he hooked his fingers further, still aguishly slow. She pressed her mouth to his skin, muffling her cries as he sped up only slightly.

“Is this what you wanted, Fiona?” His voice was deliciously taunting. “When I found you alone, touching yourself?” 

Instead of feeling embarrassed as she did before, Fiona found that spark of confidence that Brynjolf had always made her feel, from the very moment they met.

“Mmm…” Fiona pulled away from him, slowly leaning back onto her knees as she framed his hips. “I just want you.”

Brynjolf nodded, withdrawing his hand from her, albeit with a hint of reluctance. If he had it his way, he would see her undone ten times over before he found his own release. Her hand found his cock once more, the heat radiating as she guided him to her. The first time, Fiona had been so distracted with her own sensations—he had filled her so completely, it had overwhelmed her. This time, she focused on the way his face instantly melted into one of pure bliss, eyes fluttering closed as she slowly enveloped him. Had he looked like that last night?

Fiona adjusted, leaning back further to ensure he was fully settled within her. His hands encircled her waist, and she rested one hand over his, the other pressing to the center of his chest as she slowly circled her hips once—twice—three times. _Divines take her_, he was so thick, so _hot_, and it was agonizing. She focused back on Brynjolf’s face to find his eyes already on hers, half-lidded and full of desire as he lifted his hips ever so slightly to meet her movements.

She made to quicken the pace, but found Brynjolf’s hands applying pressure to her waist in a silent protest. _Slow_, he had said. She breathed out, pushing back the deep craving she had to just pin his hands to the bed and ride him until she found her end. As if he could see the frustration in her features, he leaned up, clutching her to his chest as he pushed his hips upwards. In one fluid motion he had flipped their bodies, pinning her to the bed beneath him. He languidly continued his thrusts, unwilling to speed up in any way.

He still pressed kisses along her cheek and jawline, whispering along her neck—words she couldn’t quite understand. It was the same, and yet so different from the night before. He found her lips, their tongues molding together as he gradually increased his pace. Fiona found herself wonderfully perplexed by it all—this was only their second coupling and yet, with the way they were moving, they had already found their perfect rhythm with one another. It was perfection. With that thought, the coil within her gut began to tighten.

She clung to him, hooking one leg across his flank and moaning deep within her throat as he gripped that thigh to his side. Needing air, she turned her face away, only for Brynjolf’s arm to snake up around her shoulder, his hand resting to cradle her head. He pressed his forehead against hers, his fiery hair falling against her cheeks as his emerald gaze burned into hers. That was all she needed—Fiona’s entire body spasmed as ecstasy washed over her.

Brynjolf didn’t stop, his thrusts finally becoming uneven as he panted, drinking in the sweet sounds of her cries of pleasure as she came a second time. He cursed, quietly, in Norse, another string of words on his lips mostly incoherent save for her name repeated as his hips snapped against hers for a final time. They kissed, holding onto that last moment for as long as they could, not wanting it to be over.

Fiona whimpered as he practically collapsed on top of her, but welcomed the weight of his body all the same. Brynjolf was quick to roll away from her with a large exhale, the two pausing to collect their breaths before finding one another in a gentle embrace. She settled in the crux of his shoulder, resting her head against his chest, astounded at how long his heart continued to pound within his chest. Though, she was sure her heartrate would never return to normal. Brynjolf reached for the spare fur at the edge of the bed, tossing it across their torsos to combat the eventual chill.

His hand idly traced along her shoulder and down her arm, sometimes picking at her fingers to inspect and kiss each digit before resting against his chest intertwined with his own. It was blissful, peaceful—Fiona never wanted to leave.

“The next few days?” she asked in a teasing voice, remembering. She craned her head to glance up at Brynjolf.

Brynjolf smirked at her, his signature expression that she had fallen for. “Don’t think for a moment we aren’t leaving this love nest before the end of the week,” he explained. “I made sure to stop by the Bee and Barb as well for food. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up with you, love.”

Fiona felt her face flush, her chest swell with emotion. It was a simple thing, for him to call her _love_ instead of _lass_—he had done it several times that day, but with his declaration, it made her all the more smitten. She knew how he could have difficulty with the word at times, even when she didn’t. She was about to respond when she felt his fingers pulling on her chin, prompting her to lift her head again. She propped herself up slightly, so it would be easier for him to kiss her if that was what he wanted.

“You know that, right lass?” he prompted. Fiona tilted her head in mild confusion right as he covered his lips with his own. “That I love you?”

“Yes,” she grinned against his lips, possibly brighter than she ever had before. It was hard to contain her joy. “I know. And I love you, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf was smiling too, seemingly liberated, smile only growing as he scattered kisses across her face until she squealed away. 

“Now,” she nodded her head towards the kitchen. “You mentioned breakfast?”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated


End file.
